


Hell On Heels

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are <i>not</i> calling themselves <i>Fury's Angels</i>. Nor are they calling themselves <i>Distressing Damsels</i>. And  <i>Sexy Hos In Every Life Detail</i> is definitely out.</p><p>At least, it is if Maria has anything to say about it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell On Heels

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm gearing up for the MCU AU fest. I have three possible ideas and all are pretty EPIC. I have to fit them in with the Maria Hill EPIC, the "MCU Civil War with Maria Hill" EPIC (Boo, _Cap3_ , just: BOO) , and my Not Primetime assignment (which may or may not be Maria Hill.
> 
> Also: I really do have to watch S2 of Agents of SHIELD. Dammit.

“We are _not_ calling ourselves ‘Fury’s Angels,’” Maria said in tones that brooked no argument.

Skye swung around in her chair and poked the disappointed young woman standing by the lab table with her outstretched toe. “Told you!”

“Nor,” Maria added as Jemma opened her mouth, “are we calling ourselves ‘Phil’s Angels’ or even ‘Peggy’s Angels’. There will be no angels.”

“‘Fear not’,” Natasha quipped, stretching her stocking feet out and pointing her toes across the rug they’d ‘liberated’ from an oil baron in Russia last year. Maria had never asked exactly how Melinda got the bloodstains out – there were moments while leading this team when she figured the less she knew, the better.

Jemma slumped. “But it would be fun!”

“It would be obvious,” Melinda says, exchanging an exasperated glance with Maria. “We don’t want obvious.”

“So 'Sexy Hos In Every Life Detail' is out? What?” Skye held up her hands when everyone stared at her. “You asked for suggestions and we’re making them. I have yet to see anyone else suggest anything!”

There were moments when Maria wondered if Phil had handed her Skye Johnson for her sins. No, she hadn’t exactly been an easy protégé, but she was pretty sure she’d never been _this_ bad.

“Does it matter what we call ourselves?” Sharon asked, looking up from the pieces of the rocket launcher she was refitting. “So long as we get the job done.”

“Which is another thing we need to start thinking about. And rather more important than naming ourselves.”

“What’s in a name anyway?” Natasha was studying her nails, but she caught the metal screw Sharon flicked at her head, almost without looking up.

Maria didn’t sigh at the by-play as she linked up her tablet in to the room’s projector. Sharon and Natasha were getting on, and considering Maria had worried that the exotic and independent Russian beauty (who was wanted for espionage and treason in twenty-six countries) would clash with the all-American ‘girl next door’ (whose working knowledge of weapons would make a USMC Sergeant stare) she’d take it.

She pulled up the first of the five mails she’d received overnight, one of them timestamped at 4am in the morning. “We already have several clients who’ve requested our services.”

“Does that sounds dirty to anyone else?”

Natasha glanced over at Skye. “Only if you have a dirty mind.”

“Hey, if he’s cute, I’m more than happy to take one for the team…”

“Odinsson? _Thor_ Odinsson?” Melinda pointed at the second mail down.

“Yes, that’s the one who was sniffing around Jane last year,” Maria said, opening up the mail so the others could read the contents. There wasn’t much to read, but it was fairly detailed. Thor Odinsson had a good grasp of saying a great deal in few words. “Apparently, Dr. Selvig recommended us to him.”

“You make him sound like a dog,” Sharon said, amused.

“Dr. Selvig sounds like a dog?” Natasha’s smile flashed, brief and brilliant..

“Oh, all men are dogs in some manner.”

The room went quiet as, one by one, the women turned to look at Jemma, who blushed pink when she realised she was the centre of attention.

Skye crossed her arms, pouting. “And you all think _I’m_ the cynical one.”

“I’m simply saying that the…more notable characteristics of the canine breeds can be seen quite frequently in the behaviours of certain male specimens of the human species.”

“A preoccupation with their balls?”

“Chewing on your shoes?”

“Refusing to be rolled over when they’re hogging the bed?”

“Sticking their nose in your crotch at inopportune times?”

Sharon grinned. Natasha smirked. Melinda arched a brow; Maria arched both. Skye giggled.

“I meant loyalty, enthusiasm, and a…certain short-sightedness in thinking beyond…never mind.” Jemma visibly dragged the tattered shreds of her dignity together. “Please continue, Ms. Hill, I’m sorry to have interrupted the briefing.

Maria eyed her. “Now I’m _very_ curious about the mysterious Mr. Fitz.” But she waved Jemma silent when she opened her mouth to explain herself – and probably defend the young man she only referred to as ‘Fitz’. “To get back to the point: Thor Odinsson is asking for our assistance in regaining a family heirloom which went missing back in the 1920s.”

“That’s a while to wait before filing a Lost Property report.” Melinda noted. “What is it, and why do they want it back now?”

“It’s a box of blue topaz that’s been in the family for five hundred years,” Maria pulled up the pictures – old daguerrotypes and sketches which were all they had to go upon. “His grandfather referred to it as ‘the Tesseract’ and it was said to be the key to the family fortunes. Which is apparently more literal than anyone realised, since, while doing a household inventory last year, they discovered a door that hasn’t been opened in living memory.”

She pulled up the picture of the door and flicked between it and the picture of the Tesseract, showing the similarities of the carvings in the wood and in the cube-shaped box that seemed to glow as though with an inner light.

“Runes,” said Melinda, tilting her head to get a better look. “Elder Futhark.”

“Hey, why’d she get to read the cheat sheet?” Skye objected. “Unless you—Shit, did you just _know_ that?”

“We were called to deal with a Norse death cult a few years ago,” Melinda said, in the tone of voice that most women would use to say they got a cup of coffee. “Afterwards, we looked into the scrolls and writings they’d cannibalised for their manifesto. Similar writing, although not quite as detailed as this.”

“Got some notes?” Natasha asked. “Could be useful to compare them.”

“I’ll see if Phil has any.”

Skye had been tippety-tapping away on her laptop, nimble fingers pulling up information from a thousand databases in a program that Maria had used a few times and struggled with. “Hey, it says here that Elder Futhark is from about 150AD to 800AD – that’s still about 700 years before the Odinssons acquired this Tesseract. How’d they end up with a hidden passageway that has the same kinds of runes on it?”

“Something to find out,” Maria told them. “Natasha, maybe it’s time Jane went to visit Thor and his family. He’s been trying to persuade her to go for a while, and it seems like now would be a good time.”

“I don’t suppose I can punch Loki out?”

“You can do whatever you can get away with.” Maria raised her eyebrow as Natasha cracked her knuckles with a smile that should have been elegant and instead gave off a slightly vicious air of delight. “Tactfully, of course.”

“Says the house without doors,” Skye muttered behind her computer screen. “What? That’s what Mr. Blond-and-Built called her!”

“I still don’t have any idea what that means,” Jemma commented. “I mean, Maria’s not exactly the kind of woman that you just walk straight int—And I’m shutting up now.”

“Sharon,” Maria said, ignoring the brief diversion into the opinions of Mr. Blond-and-Built as Skye had so aptly named him, “I need you to follow up on the Tesseract and other items of the time. Use Peggy’s contacts.”

“Shouldn’t that be a job for Skye?”

“She’ll be doing some of it. But I suspect we’ll get more out of talking to people – and you’re good at talking to people.”

“You mean people are good at sharing things with me.” Sharon was the kind of woman that people shared with. Frequently, overshared, as she grumbled. But she had a friendly, open face, and a good expression for listening, even if she was mentally taking apart an XM2010 and giving it a complete retrofit during the more boring parts.

“Same difference.” Maria looked at Melinda. “Melinda, you and I will be talking to Phil.”

“Talking? Or interrogating?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Is there something in the water? Everyone’s a comic tonight.”

“But we love you Miss Hannigan!” Skye chorused.

“Well, some of us do, anyway,” said Natasha. “Although maybe it’s just that your phone has been flashing with a message from Mr Blond-and-Built for the last two minutes.” And so saying, she reached over and swiping the device off the desk before Maria could make a grab for it. “And we’re curious.”

“Nat—”

“You’ve been messaging him?” Melinda raised one dark brow.

“No! He's been messaging  _me_. Nat—”

“I feel so slighted,” Sharon said in airy tones. “He never responded to _my_ texts.”

“You texted him?”

“I promise it wasn’t a nude." A dimple dipped in one cheek. "Topless, maybe.”

“Has he sent you dick pics yet?”

“Skye, I don’t think he’s that type of guy—”

“Every guy is _that_ type of guy given a cellphone and the opportunity—”

Natasha was typing the unlock code into Maria’s phone – Maria didn’t bother asking how Natasha knew it.

“ _Natasha Alianova Romanoff, you give that back right now!_ ”

“Someone’s in trouble!” Jemma sang softly as Maria advanced on Natasha, more than prepared to fight to get her phone back. And sure, she’d probably lose, but all she had to do was get it out of Nat’s grasp—

Thankfully, Natasha tossed it to her with no more than a slight smile. And Maria swiped the message from the screen unread, pocketed the phone, and hooked the swing of her hair behind one ear as she went back to the job. “As I was saying: Melinda and I will gather extra information about the Norse death cult from Phil while the rest of us go out and case the joint.”

“And Maria will answer her texts,” Melinda added, to the tune of giggles from the younger women, a broad smirk and a buttoned-down dimple from Natasha and Sharon respectively, and a glare from Maria.

“Invite him around for dinner!”

"No."

“Drinks?”

"No."

“Sex?”

"Oh. My. God. Will you all just go away?”

“You’d miss us if we were gone,” said Melinda, barely cracking a smile.

“Who’d give you hell if we didn’t?” Natasha added.

“I’m sure I’d find someone else willing.”

“Like Mr. Blond-and-Built?" Jemma opened her eyes to their widest and most innocent. "He seems _very_ willing."

“Well, I don't know..." Skye said, “If he's not sending her dick pics…”

“Skye, really. Not every man is Miles.”

Skye’s jaw dropped as she looked at Jemma. “Traitor!”

Melinda's expression went blank. “What happened to Mike?”

“Oh, please. He’s just a friend. And he’s married. I don’t do married.”

“Just cute and dopey con artists?” Jemma inquired sweetly.

“He's not a con artist!"

"Well, if you'd just _introduce_ us then we'd have more than just your word to go on..."

“Ahem!” Maria glared at them. “If there’s nothing else—”

"Well," Sharon fit the launcher's barrel back onto it's firing mechanism with a loud metallic _ting_. She looked up, blue eyes in a honey-sweet face smiling over the heavy metal of the weapon, “There's still the small matter of a name?”

* * *

“The _Dangerous Dames Detective Agency_?”

Maria glared at Steve Rogers, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile as he sprawled in the visitor seat in front of her desk, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other held the trim black-and-white rectangle he’d plucked off her business card holder.

Contrary to Melinda’s insinuating eyebrow, Maria had not invited him around for dinner, drinks, _or_ sex. In fact, she hadn’t invited him around at all; he’d just been in the area and ‘dropped in to say hi’.

“It could have been worse.” At his questioning expression, Maria sighed. “The next closest contender was _Distressing Damsels_.”


End file.
